But that's not how it felt, looking at it, and it's not how it feels when it's inside her. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she wraps her arms around them, letting out a breathy whimper.

"Maybe I don't care anymore," she says quietly in Greek, more to herself than anything else. "Maybe the nothingness is the only real peace there is. Maybe next time, I'll go with them."

She closes her eyes, tucking her face down against her knees.

"You care about--"

It occurs to her suddenly that while she's learned all sorts of English words for talking about death, she doesn't know the word for life. The realization gets a short burst of laughter from her. How fitting.

"You care about not death. I don't. I never care about this; I don't know how."